The Novels of the Jaran (222 page)

“Well, it isn’t my fault that Anatoly Sakhalin disappointed both his grandmother’s and my plans and Galina ended up with his uncle instead.”

“Anatoly Sakhalin would have been a better match,” agreed Kira, perfectly willing to malign her son-in-law. “At least Andrei spends more time with the army than here. Hush, now. She cares for him, so that’s all that matters.”

Galina waddled over and Tess embraced her. “You’re looking well, little one,” she said, and everyone laughed, since Galina was hugely pregnant. “What news?” she asked Kira, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the family from the wagons: Sonia and Stassia and the children, and Irena Orzhekov.

For a while, bedlam raged. The gods had smiled kindly on the Orzhekov tribe. Not only had they granted one of their sons a vision that had led him to unite the tribes and lead the jaran to conquer their rightful subjects, the khaja, but they had also gifted Mother Orzhekov with five daughters (one adopted) and many healthy grandchildren, and particularly many fine girls to carry on the line. In fact, Tess reflected, sitting on a pillow with a still sleepy Yuri heaped in her lap, most of the Orzhekov line was here right now, which was why even with the muffling properties of the tapestries and the felt walls, their mingled voices rang with such an overpowering swell of noise.

Irena’s eldest daughter Kira and her husband Sevyan had six children, of whom only one had died in infancy; Kira’s eldest son Mitya was now governing prince of Habakar, but her daughter Galina was here as were the other two girls and one boy. Stassia, the second daughter, and her husband Pavel had eight formidably robust children; two boys and one girl were out with the army, but of the other five girls, one was married and four still young. Anna, who had died over fourteen years ago, had left a boy and a girl; her husband, Gennady Berezin, was a long-standing member of Ilya’s jahar.

Sonia’s elder children Katerina and Ivan were with Yaroslav Sakhalin. Little Kolia—well, no longer little now, since he was thirteen this year—was outside with Dania Tagansky helping with the horses while his baby sister Alyona, the daughter of Sonia and her second husband, Josef Raevsky, sat on her mother’s knee and wailed at some imagined slight. Tess’s adopted brother Aleksi was gone; he had ridden out two months ago to lead the expedition along the Golden Road. But his wife Svetlana Tagansky and their three children were here. Feodor Grekov had his younger daughter riding on his hip. Tess guessed that Nadine would be outside, already gleaning reports from whatever couriers had ridden in recently; as for Feodor and Nadine’s elder daughter, Lara, neither she nor Natalia nor Aleksi’s younger daughter Sofia were in evidence. No doubt trouble was brewing.

“That is disturbing news indeed,” said Irena Orzhekov calmly to Kira. “Alyona, my heart, you must cease crying this instant.”

Yuri reflexively stuck two fingers in his mouth and sucked on them intently, watching his three-year-old cousin decide whether it was worth continuing to cry. Aleksi’s wife Svetlana, with her youngest child in tow, swooped down and spirited Alyona off Sonia’s lap. Yuri settled a hand possessively around Tess’s elbow as Alyona’s indignant wails faded away when she was taken outside.

“What is disturbing news?” asked Sonia, resettling herself more comfortably next to Tess. Stassia squatted next to them, and Kira threw a pillow down so that both she and her mother could sit.

“Mother Sakhalin is failing. The healers agree that she is in her last days,” said Kira. She and Stassia resembled their mother, with lean faces and bright blue eyes and pale blonde hair washed even lighter with silver.

Tess nodded gravely with the other women, but her eyes caught on Ilya where he stood by the entrance, conferring with Konstans Barshai. Konstans was ten years younger than Ilya, and yet they looked, where the sun filtered through and cast stripes of light along their figures, illuminating their dark hair, their beards, to be about the same age. Except it was Ilya and his cousin Kira who were born in the same year.

“At least the succession is not only assured, but in safe hands,” said Irena. “Konstantina Sakhalin will be a worthy Mother Sakhalin. What concerns me, Kira, is this news of Arina Veselov.”

“Arina?” Tess’s attention snapped back to the council. “Is something wrong with Arina?”

“She is pregnant,” said Kira. “As we suspected.”

Tess gasped.

“As she would not admit,” added Sonia. “But how could she have risked it? Not only her tribe’s elders and Varia Telyegin but Tess’s
Dokhtor
Hierakis all warned her that this time it would probably kill her.”

“Well,” said Kira solemnly. “We shall soon find out. Varia Telyegin says she has had strong rushes all morning.”

“Then she hid it for a long time,” said Tess, since they had only been out on the plains for four months, “or else she’s early again.”

“Early or late,” said Irena, “if she dies, there is no woman in the direct Veselov line to become etsana. The tribe will never have Vera Veselov—”

“I doubt she would give up being dyan in any case,” put in Tess, “a position for which she is far better suited.”

Irena Orzhekov’s lips quirked slightly, while Sonia rolled her eyes and Stassia made a face. “Although it pains me to agree with you on this matter, I fear it is true,” said Irena. “So be it. Who then will become etsana of the Veselov tribe? Mira Veselov is only eleven years old.”

“Could someone hold it in trust for her, until she is old enough, and proves herself worthy?” Tess asked.

“This is also what I am thinking,” said Irena. “I am thinking that Galina should. In time she will become Mother Orzhekov, if the gods will, and in this way she would gain experience and yet there could be no suspicion involved that she hoped to supplant Mira herself.”

“And it would give her good-for-nothing husband a bit more responsibility, which he sorely needs,” said Kira sourly.

“Kira!”

Kira glanced around to make sure that Galina was out of earshot. “I am sorry to say that my son married a timid khaja girl and my daughter a son of the Sakhalin tribe, and of the two I far prefer the little khaja princess, barbarian though she may be. Begging your pardon, Tess.”

“Granted willingly.” As an afterthought, all five of the women looked at Yuri. He stopped sucking on his fingers and slowly drew them out of his mouth. He squirmed closer against his mother, folded both his hands around her elbow, and hung on. “You’d better go, Yurinya. This is women’s business.”

He opened his mouth to screech, caught Irena Orzhekov’s eye, and decided against it. With a pronounced sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and wandered away, dragging his feet until he caught sight of his father. Tess watched him trot over—he had an endearingly uncoordinated lope that could not quite be dignified with the word “run”—and attach himself to Ilya’s leg. Startled, Ilya looked down at him, up toward Tess, and then scooped the boy up and set him on his shoulders. Together, they walked outside with Konstans, Yuri ducking as they went under the threshold. Yuri was already chattering away, and Tess cringed, hoping that he was not repeating in some fragmented fashion the conversation he had just heard: He had an astonishingly good memory for a five-year-old.

“We have decided to postpone the birbas for at least ten more days. There has been the usual nonsense with the Grekov tribe, who are determined to quarrel with the Raevskys, this time over right of place in the birbas,” added Kira.

All the women except Sonia shook their heads. Tess dipped her head down to hide a smile.

“Why are you smiling?” asked Sonia suddenly.

Tess chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe only to wonder how I could have been so naive as to imagine that the four of you hadn’t planned it all from the beginning, for Feodor Grekov to mark Nadine. I just find it so amusing to see you all so irritated that it hasn’t worked out as you’d planned.”

“She has given birth to two fine girls,” retorted Sonia, nettled.

Kira snorted. “If you call Lara fine. I would call her wild, myself.”

“I grieve for the little boy they lost,” said Irena, “but nevertheless, Tess is right. The gods always find ways to remind us that we aren’t nearly as clever as we believe we are. I will have to consult with—” She hesitated, reading her eldest daughter’s expression. “Is Mother Sakhalin so ill that she can’t be consulted?” she asked, startled enough that Tess caught a hint of alarm in her voice.

Kira bowed her head. “Three days ago she fell into sleep and has only woken twice briefly since.”

Irena rose, shaking out her skirts. “Then we must go at once to her tent. After that, we will visit Arina Veselov. Tess, you will come with me. Sonia and Stassi, you will remain here now and then attend Mother Sakhalin this evening. From now until she dies, one of us should remain at her tent at all hours.”

“I’ll see that our tents are put up,” said Stassia, rising.

“Oh, Stassi,” said Sonia, “let me supervise the tents today. The sight of food makes me ill. You promised yesterday you would see to dinner until I’m feeling better.” The other women paused and examined her with critical eyes.

“Aha!” said Tess. “You
are
pregnant, aren’t you?”

Sonia laughed. “You know the answer to that as well as I do. But I must say, Tess, that—”

“No! I’ve had two. That’s enough!”

It was an old argument that had been raging for over two years now, ever since Yuri had turned three. Tess had avoided it for a time by going to Jeds, but on her return it had simply resumed with more force.

“Don’t tease her, Sonia,” said Irena mildly. “Although I admit I now understand why the khaja princes are so weak, and why their houses die out so quickly, if they think two children are enough to secure their line.”

Tess sighed. It was all very well to have a mother and older sisters, but it also meant that she had to bear up under the brunt of their advice and scolding.

“Come, Tess,” said Irena. Tess followed her away, making a face at Sonia over her shoulder. Sonia only laughed.

They walked toward the Sakhalin tent across an expanse of flourishing green grass. It was lawn grass, truth to tell, not the coarser plains grass that grew everywhere outside the central grounds of the park. In the year he had spent here on the site of Darai, David had devised many ingenious marvels, working with Habakar and Vidiyan engineers brought to Sarai by the army. One of them was the unobtrusive irrigation system, which was almost as marvelous as the citywide plumbing system, both of them built with the technology and manpower at hand. It was amazing what one could accomplish with enough hands and enough time and enough patience. Tess had schemed for this lawn. She would have taken off her boots just to feel the soft grass between her toes, but Irena would probably think her odd for doing so. In any case, they crossed over a small canal, skirted a line of saplings, and came to the Sakhalin tent. The sight of it sobered Tess.

Elizaveta Sakhalin was dying.

Inside, incense could not cover the sour-sweet smell of illness. Mother Sakhalin lay on pillows, breathing shallowly. She looked impossibly tiny, as if the illness itself was shrinking her. Her skin was so pale and dry that Tess was afraid the slightest touch would mark her permanently. Irena knelt down beside the old etsana and took her ancient, veined hand in her own. She regarded the old woman calmly. A Sakhalin girl hovered in the background, and the Sakhalin healer sat quietly opposite Mother Orzhekov.

Tess remained standing. She sniffed back a tear and caught a second on a finger. But she wasn’t really crying for Mother Sakhalin, although she grieved to see her so close to death. Even as Mother Sakhalin had grown old, had grown weaker, and finally failed, Tess knew she was seeing the beginning of Niko’s decline, and that was far harder to contemplate.

Niko would not thank her for interfering with the natural course of life, and yet she could not help but wonder if she ought to try to give longevity to all the jaran. Yet even with the treatments that extended youth, a swift decline set in at around one hundred and ten years. Inevitably, this scene was played out in every family, with every individual. Even if Cara Hierakis found a formula that would double the human life span, still, in the end, mortality faced them all.

The sweetish smell caught in Tess’s throat, and she gagged.

Mother Sakhalin stirred. Her hand fluttered in Irena’s gentle grip. Her eyes opened and closed and opened. Her gaze had lost its sharp intelligence; it pained Tess to see how lost and confused the old woman seemed. Mother Sakhalin glanced around the dim chamber as if looking for something that wasn’t there, and her fingers moved, clutching Irena’s hand.

“Anatoly,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “
kriye
, dear one.”

She fell back asleep.

Irena let go of her hand and sat back on her heels. “Kira said she was woken twice before from this sleep.”

The healer nodded. “With the same result. It is always the boy she asks for.”

Irena rose. She carried with her such vast reserves of serenity that Tess could not imagine seeing her flustered. “My other daughters will come as well,” she said to the healer. They took their leave.

Outside the tent, blinking as they adjusted to the sunlight, Irena spoke without looking at Tess. “It is hard for you, I can tell, my daughter. But I hope you remember that a woman who survives her childbearing can expect to see her husband die before her.” Tess shuddered. Irena rested a cool hand on Tess’s arm, a fleeting, comforting gesture. “But it is true that he is holding up well under the weight of his years and his vision. Perhaps the gods have chosen to grant him youth past the normal measure, so that he may better lead his armies as far as the gods want him to.” She dropped her hand and walked on, as if she knew that Tess did not want to speak of these matters.

At the Veselov tent, Arina looked peaceful enough. Her eyes lit, when she saw Tess, and she extended a hand. Tess grasped it and sat down beside her.

“You are well?” asked Tess, feeling stupid as she said it.

“I am fine,” said Arina, but she looked worn and pale, her small body dwarfed by her pregnancy. Even her gorgeous black hair hung lankly down over her shoulders as if it had lost an essential spark of life.